


Skin Like Ice

by In_love_with_writing002



Series: Monsterfucker Geralt Stories [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Geralt, Do not tag as as necrophillia, Geralt cares, Geralt is a monsterfucker, Geralt is also horny, Humor, Jaskier did absolutely nothing wrong, Jaskier is a perfectionist, M/M, Oral Sex, Poetry, Self-Indulgent, Smut, They both say 'fuck' a lot, but not really, cursed!Jaskier, evil witch - Freeform, i can’t believe I have to tag that, thought I would share, top!Jaskier, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_love_with_writing002/pseuds/In_love_with_writing002
Summary: In his defense, Jaskier was right.“You look...” Geralt licked his lips. “Not terrible.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Series: Monsterfucker Geralt Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842091
Comments: 41
Kudos: 490





	Skin Like Ice

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote a poem for my poetry collection “On Geralt” where Jaskier gets cursed to look like a corpse after insulting a witch and Geralt is Into It— and I’ve been meaning to write a fic accompaniment for it for _ages_ , so here’s that, finally.

In his defense, Jaskier was right.

“First you kill people, and then you can’t get the right poet when you’re quoting? As a scholar, I’m ashamed. Anyone with an ounce of intelligence knows that—“

“If you like your dead poets so much, why don’t you join them?” The witch was an ugly, grotesque woman who had been giving people mixed-up cures for their ailments until there had been a head hunt started. Geralt, of course, was the only one up for it, and Jaskier insisted on accompanying him, despite Geralt’s warnings. The end result was really the best case scenario, considering.

_ “Jaskier!” _ Except Geralt was too late, and the witch made a swift gesture imbued with chaos, striking Jaskier between the eyes. He was certain he’d be dead.

Imagine his surprise when he woke up blinking light out of his face in a healer’s tent.  _ Am I an infant? _ He wondered.  _ Is this reincarnation? _ His memories of being Jaskier were all present and accounted for though. He’d been told when he was young, a myth, that when you were reborn you had all the memories of your past life, but they disappeared the longer you lived in your new life.  _ I can’t be a baby right now, _ he thought.  _ Geralt needs me! _

“G-Geralt,” he choked out. Okay, that was decidedly  _ not _ an infant’s voice. Unless a baby was equipped with a fine lilting tenor like he was. What a sight  _ that  _ would be.

“Jaskier,” someone said, their voice filled with relief. Ah, he recognized that. That was the voice that had said his singing was like a pie with no filling, that had said his monsters didn’t exist, that had said they weren’t friends. It was his  _ best friend _ in the  _ whole wide world. _

A meaty hand caressed his jaw. 

“You’re alive.”

“I thought I wouldn’t be,” Jaskier admitted after coughing a couple times. His head hurt, he realized, stating as much.

“Drink this.” Ah, yes, water! That would make this more bearable. Except the fluid that met Jaskier’s lips was  _ not _ water, and tasted like  _ liquid ass  _ going down his throat.

“Oh,  _ fuck,” _ he croaked, spitting. “What is that?”

“Healing tonic, from the mage. She said it would help the headache.” The memory flooded back to him, the witch that he’d called stupid, the unpleasant feeling of being struck between the brows, the visible inky black chaos that had swirled around her hands.

“Any idea what the witch did? With her… chaos fingers.”

“You’re a corpse.” So he  _ was _ dead after all!

“How am I-“

“It’s a glamour, I think.” Ah. He knew about those. An illusion that made someone look like someone else. He’d had an incident with a particularly frisky Fae wearing a glamour back in Toussaint about three years ago—

“Wait, you  _ think?” _

“I wasn’t aware glamours would stay after the creature who cast it died.” Probably  _ not _ a glamour then.

“So a curse, then,” Jaskier sighed. “Does the mage know how to lift it? And what do I look like? You said I was a corpse, do I look like I’m decaying? Dead?”

Geralt made a strangled sound, so Jaskier stopped talking.

“She’s out right now. From what I’ve heard the curse should fade on its own. If it doesn’t lift in a few days, I’m to take you back for her to investigate further. You look…” Geralt licked his lips. “Not terrible.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, putting a hand to his chest as he sat up.  _ Fuck, _ that hurt his head. Slowly, he told himself.  _ Slowly. _ “As flattered as I am that you think I’m attractive, I meant a mirror. Did you get my bag from the inn? There should be one in there. And what time is it, anyway?”

“You slept for about a day. It’s early evening. Your bag is still in the inn. The mage said you could move once you were awake so...” Geralt shrugged, then stood from his bedside.

“Ah, right,” Jaskier said, lifting a hand to push his hair out of his face. He caught sight of his hand and blinked a couple times. “Geralt, might part of the curse be that I have  _ black blood?” _

“It’s not that strange to me.”

Jaskier looked at his other hand, where the blackness continued. He put two fingers to his wrist.

“How could you tell I was alive when I don’t have a pulse?”

“I couldn’t.” Oh.

“You were still breathing after I butchered it.” Oh.

Geralt didn’t use  _ butchered _ a lot. Killed? Sure. Slaughtered? If there were more than three. He’d even gotten creative and said “ended it” a few times. This must have been a particularly grisly kill.

“You  _ do  _ care,” Jaskier gasped.

“Let’s get to the inn. And finish that tonic,” Geralt said. Must he? “I don’t want to hear you complain about your head if you don’t drink it.”

“Can you read minds?” Jaskier asked. No answer. Jaskier grimaced at the glass holding the tonic. It was brightly colored, an off-yellow green. It looked disgusting. Jaskier downed the rest of it quickly and slowly stood up. The effect was quick at least, his head feeling better nearly as soon as he stepped outside. It was entirely gone by the time they got to the inn, and Jaskier had been entertaining himself by talking about the poets that the witch had confused as they walked there, though when he stepped inside, he was not expecting someone to scream.

“It’s just the bard,” Geralt said. “He’s been cursed.”

Jaskier realized that he still hadn’t seen his reflection. “I live  _ and  _ breathe!” He said dramatically, waving his hand. He quickly hid it when he remembered the black veins, and smiled nervously. “Geralt, why are they staring,” he whispered as they walked towards their room. “You said I looked fine.”

“Probably the black eyes,” Geralt mumbled.

_ “The what?” _ Jaskier pushed past Geralt quickly, going into their room and towards his bag immediately. He didn’t even give his lute a second thought, diving for his mirror. “Melitele’s tits,” he muttered, touching his face. Sunken, matte depths stared back at him. It didn’t even look like he had eye sockets, the entire space transfigured into darkness by the curse. He closed one eye and the darkness stayed.  _ Frightening. _

“I did say  _ not terrible,” _ Geralt said, announcing his presence.

“No, not  _ terrible _ ,” Jaskier scoffed. “I look  _ horrific! _ Straight out of a nightmare! Like a- like a-“

“A monster?” Jaskier looked at Geralt’s reflection in the mirror.  _ Oh. _

“Are you... Geralt, is that a dagger in your pants, or are you getting off on this?” He was even more distressed when Geralt, now mostly undressed, stepped closer, kneeling down behind him.

“It’s not a dagger,” he muttered, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s neck. “Your skin is  _ cold.” _ It sounded breathless. “You smell like death.” A hint of teeth scraped over his flesh.

“I should have known you were-  _ mmph!” _ Lips pressed against his and Jaskier slowly put down the mirror, turning to face him more fully. Geralt grabbed at his doublet and began unfastening, his other hand going to his trousers and trying to undo the ties. Jaskier laid back on the ground, separating their mouths and  _ breathing. _

_ “Fuck.” _ Geralt made an undignified sound, one that Jaskier was sure that even if hard-pressed, he would never admit was a whine. “Are you, is this,”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Jaskier said, finishing the work on his doublet that Geralt had stopped. Geralt’s mouth latched onto his neck and his hands dove into his trousers.

“Thank the  _ gods _ you can still get hard,” Geralt said, as though he didn’t have a hand wrapped tightly around Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier’s brain came to a stuttering halt and he let out a rough breath, nearly a wheeze that had his fingers flying for his shirt edges, tugging them out of his newly undone trousers. Geralt released him long enough to assist, pushing his shirt up and then attaching his mouth once again to his chest, leaving attention over his nipple.

“ _ Geralt,” _ Jaskier moaned, tangling his fingers in Geralt’s hair.

“Fuck,  _ fuck,” _ Geralt quickly withdrew, eyes roaming over him, pupils blown wide. “Oil in your bag?”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, nodding at the same time.

“Get undressed and get to the bed.” How could Jaskier resist a direct order? He kicked off his boots and got out of the rest of his clothes as he walked to the single bed in the room, laying down and looking down at his body. The color down his chest was a deep shade of blue, practically black, and his  _ very rapidly _ hardening cock was also flushed a deep navy color that grew darker when he flicked his gaze between it and Geralt, who was digging through his bag and attempting to get out of his clothes at the same time.

“What is it about me that you like so much?” Jaskier asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Geralt growled. “I realized you were still breathing because you started moaning in pain in your sleep, and then I saw your skin getting paler, and your  _ veins _ turned to ink-“ Geralt made a choked sound that was decidedly a good thing, “I’ve been half hard since we got to the Mage’s tent.”

“And my eyes?” Jaskier asked, fisting his own cock. The dry friction burned a little, but he didn’t want to stop teasing if it meant Geralt might make more of those  _ sounds. _ He really hoped Geralt wanted to ride him. They’d been fucking for a few years, at that point, since they met up after the mountain and Geralt had begged on his knees for forgiveness. What had followed was probably the messiest but most perfect blow-job of Jaskier’s life, and there had been  _ several _ ever since.

“They remind me of myself, after Cat,” Geralt made another choked off sound. “Your bag is impossible to fucking navigate, where the fuck do you keep the-  _ Fucking finally.” _ Geralt stood up, clutching the vial victoriously. It looked a little ridiculous, frankly, since he was  _ ridiculously _ hard, but Jaskier found himself moving his hand a little faster over his length.

“I didn’t even think about how I would look like you,” Jaskier said honestly. Geralt stalked closer to the bed, climbing over the end and crawling up towards him, which made Jaskier that much hotter under his skin. “So you like me like this?”

“It’s a good look for you,” Geralt rumbled, batting away Jaskier’s hands. At first Jaskier was going to protest, but then Geralt’s mouth was on his cock, and he found he couldn’t complain when his name spilled from his lips. Jaskier threw his head back, arching into the heat, grabbing onto his hair with his fingers and pulling to ground himself. Geralt didn’t react, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head until Jaskier nudged at the back of his throat.

“Still as-  _ hnn, enthusiastic _ as ever,” Jaskier grunted out. Geralt made a noise and Jaskier looked down, letting out another sharp breath when he realized Geralt was working himself open, knees gathered under him and both hands between his legs. Stubble scraped against Jaskier’s thighs and kept him from getting entirely comfortable, but the burn only increased his pleasure. “Nearly done?”

Geralt grunted in response and pulled off, sitting back on his heels and screwing up his face in concentration. Jaskier itched to get his hands on him so he touched Geralt’s face, brushing away the tears at the edge of his eyes from the strain in his throat, scraping blunt nails through his stubble and up into his hair, which had Geralt making stuttery growl sounds while he kept working. Jaskier grabbed around until he found the oil, using some to slick his cock, mixing with Geralt’s saliva.

“Come on,” Jaskier said, squeezing just under the head of his cock.

“ _ Fine. _ “ Geralt shuffled closer, reaching back and lining himself up before sinking down in one smooth motion. The tightness was nearly overwhelming, so impossibly  _ hot _ . “Fuck, you’re still  _ cold-“ _

Jaskier  _ felt _ anything but cold. Sweat was gathering on his forehead from the exertion. “The curse, probab—“

“It’s like I just shoved ice up my ass.”

Jaskier barked out a laugh, smacking Geralt on the chest.  _ “Geralt,”  _ he wheezed, laughing harder still when Geralt started rocking on top of him. “If It’s  _ cold,  _ don’t—“

“ _ I want it.” _

Jaskier’s laugh turned a little hysterical and breathless, hands grabbing at Geralt’s hips and encouraging the movement. “ _ Geralt,” _ he moaned, laughter still trailing off. Geralt started moving in earnest, bracing himself on Jaskier’s chest and dropping his head down. Jaskier rubbed at Geralt’s arms, feeling the muscles flex and tense with effort, pressing him harder against the bed. Geralt panted for air, and Jaskier saw his mouth fall open and stay that way, despite the hair covering. Jaskier gathered as much of it as he could in one hand and tugged it back.

“If I- look- at you-“ Oh, he was  _ really  _ into it.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whined a little. “I don’t care, holy- look at me,  _ come for me—“ _ Jaskier hadn’t been very close, but knowing that Geralt was  _ that  _ turned on, Geralt looked up, and he looked  _ wrecked, _ sweat dripping down his forehead, a line of saliva down his chin- had he even wiped off his mouth after working Jaskier over? Or was he so  _ desperate _ \- “Fucking  _ gods-“ _ Jaskier wrapped his hand around Geralt’s cock, stroking quickly, watching Geralt’s face contort in pleasure, feeling the heat, the weight of him in his hand,  _ hot,  _ knowing how his skin felt like ice to him but he  _ wanted it, _ waiting,  _ desperate- _

_ “Jaskier,” _ Geralt gasped, coming over Jaskier’s hand, clenching around him and going entirely rigid above him. Jaskier ignored the sticky wetness on his own chest and rolled his hips, pressing them together, moving through the end of Geralt’s orgasm while the Witcher practically whimpered. Jaskier let him fall onto his chest and planted his feet on the bed, still moving, because Geralt hadn’t said  _ stop— _

“Geralt,” he moaned, right in Geralt’s ear.  _ “Fuck, _ you’re heavy,” he kept moving his hips as well as he could, eventually giving up, shoving Geralt off to the side and jerking his hand over his cock, Geralt lazily rubbing against his chest until  _ finally,  _ he came over his fist, hips stuttering in aborted thrusts. Geralt pushed his hand greedily into the mess on his stomach, grunting in surprise.

“Thought it’d be cold too,” he mumbled. He sounded sleepy and sated. He shuffled closer as if to cuddle, and Jaskier shoved off his grabbing hands. “Hmm,” Geralt said, sounding a lot like a complaint.

“Clean up,” Jaskier said. “I’m not going to go to sleep like this.” He walked on still-unsteady legs to his bag, rifling around for the rag Geralt had failed to grab when he’d gotten the oil. He wiped off his stomach and chest before returning to Geralt, who looked half-asleep already as Jaskier ran the cloth over his thighs and between his legs.

“Would’ve been fine,” Geralt slurred, lazily dragging his hand over his face and wiping off the spit on his chin. “I want to look at you,” he said, lifting an arm.

“Geralt, if you think  _ monstrous  _ beings were  _ sexy _ ,” Geralt hummed in agreement, “is that why you avoid killing sentient ones?”

Geralt’s eyes widened slightly.

“Oh my- it  _ is!” _ Jaskier felt loose-limbed from the sex, letting his laughter come freely. “Gods, have you- have you fucked other monsters?”

“Shut it, bard,” Geralt said, which sounded a lot like denial to Jaskier.

“Oh, you  _ have. _ Come on then, you can tell me, what  _ creatures  _ have you-“

“ _ Jaskier _ ,” Geralt growled, sitting up. The glare was lost when Jaskier saw his pupils widen slightly, eyes darkening again. “Just get in bed,”

“Succubi? Wait no—  _ incubi?” _

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned.

“Oh, ho, ho, you don’t just fuck monsters-“

“ _ Shut up-“ _

“You  _ let them-“ _

“ _ Jaskier!”  _ That sounded dangerously like the way Geralt occasionally threatened to  _ Axii _ Jaskier into submission. But Jaskier was by the window, and Geralt was still boneless on the bed, having to use both hands to prop himself up. And his cock was starting to fill again just from staring at Jaskier.

“How many monsters have you  _ bottomed _ for?”

“ _ Damn it Jaskier!” _

**Author's Note:**

> Monsterfucker!Geralt rights.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr :) [In-love-with-writing002](https://in-love-with-writing002.tumblr.com/)


End file.
